


Echo

by Kitsune_Heart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Blanket Permission, Dream Bubbles, Inspired by Music, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Heart/pseuds/Kitsune_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You meet him in a dream bubble, and the first word he says tears out your bloodpusher.</p><p>“Signless,” the Orphaner purrs, and he sounds genuinely pleased to see you. In the same way that a predator is pleased to see another creature dragging a lame leg.</p><p>
  <i>Listen, listen.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I would take a whisper if that's all you had to give.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>But it isn't, is it?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You could come and save me and</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Try to chase the crazy right out of my head.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ["Echo" by Jason Walker](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxpLxb5jHO0) and [a discussion](http://bookwormally.tumblr.com/post/75392201528/signless-singing-echo-the-jason-walker-one-while) between [bookwormally](http://bookwormally.tumblr.com/) and [leopard-seal23](http://leopard-seal23.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

You meet him in a dream bubble, and the first word he says tears out your bloodpusher.

“Signless,” the Orphaner purrs, and he sounds genuinely pleased to see you. In the same way that a predator is pleased to see another creature dragging a lame leg.

Your ministry was never an exclusively peaceful one, so you’re prepared for him. A sickle in each hand, the metal thick and that taunting red, strong enough to withstand a swipe from even his claws. Really, its your weapons that should win. His fingers are only saved when you turn the blade flat at the last moment.

He jumps back, shaking his hand. When a quick glance confirms that he remains intact, Dualscar you a single laugh. Dismissive. Flexes his hands and summons a long rifle from the aether, propping it on his shoulder as he gives his entire body a subtle roll, each joint popping in turn. Even his jaw, filled with teeth shining just for you, cracks and you have to wince at the sound.

“Are you ready to face the Empress’s justice?” The Orphaner is as dramatic as he ever was in life, and you have to sigh at that, lifting your left arm, showing him your wrist, where the dark gray skin of adulthood is banded in a dirty red scar.

“I already have, if you’d just remem6er,” you say, but there is no flash in his eyes. Not that you’d expected one.

He acts as if you didn’t answer at all. Perhaps the bubbles erase your words, so all he knows is that his first enemy, his great triumph, is standing before him, awaiting punishment. He braces the Crosshairs against one shoulder, aimed for your thinkpan. “I’ll make sure to tell your kitty bitch something pretty as your last words.”

You should really reprimand him for that, but you just roll your eyes and bide.

You’d never have been able to dodge his blast so well in life, but there are certain privileges that come with your long residence in this strange other-place. His finger is still holding down the trigger when you appear before him, in under his arms before the gun has even finished its shot, your sickles coming up in two matching arcs. There is only a brief resistance before everything runs smooth again, and you vanish from Dualscar’s side.

His eyes have just widened in shock as you reappear just to his left, just out of reach. A moment later, his golden bracelets tinkle to the floor. And, a bit after that, he laughs.

“Looking for some jevwelry, lovwblood?” He aims again, this time bothering to sight on you. “I’vwe got a particularly nice set of bangles vwaiting for you back in Her Imperious Condescension’s courts.”

“I’m s9 glad I never f9ught y9u 9n Alternia,” you mutter, tensing your muscles, eyes locked on your next target. “Y9ur repartee is depl9ra6le.”

The skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkles and he forgets himself for a moment, shooting without his customary discipline or style.

Which wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as you’ve once more disappeared, shifting to his back. You seize his thick cape with both hands and step back, twisting your body, putting your weight in as you wrench it back. There is more resistance, this time, then a snap as the gold clasp about the Orphaner’s neck gives way, his cloak and the spikes about his shoulders falling to the ground with no further ceremony.

When he turns to you, his eyes blaze violet and there is a thin line about his neck where the metal dug in for but a moment. “Lovwblood...I don’t knowv vwhat game you’re trying to play, but—”

“I hate games,” you say, and you are before him, bringing your sickle down on his wrist.

It’s a shallow cut, but you know your trade, after so long on Alternia, and the nerves you sever make the Orphaner bellow and relax his hand. The Crosshairs hit the ground with a clatter, and you’re sure some part of the rifle broke.

There is violet leaking from Dualscar’s wrist, and he stares at it.

“S9rry,” you whisper, biting your lip.

You should have backed away before you made your apologies, for you can say no other words as Dualscar’s hand wraps around your throat. He lifts you from the ground like you weighed no more than one of the many wigglers he had the mercy to dash against the rocks.

“Scum,” he whispers, tightening his grip. “I suppose the Empress vwill have to content herself vwithout a good showv.”

Your head is getting light. Your throat burns. You can’t see well through white spots and red tears, but you reach out, fingers straining to touch the Oprhaner’s face. That face...oh, that face, which twists into a smile as you touch two fingertips to his temple, at the beginning of his scar.

“Vwhat a...pathetic...creature,” Dualscar whispers, digging claws into your skin, red blood oozing down his wrist. You’re not sure if its his words or the lack of air that makes your heart seize.

Your fingers drift down his face, across his scar.

And with your touch the deep scar fades to a pair of small cuts on his temple. Sweeps lift. Violet irises turning gray. Then white.

He looks up at you, lips parting.

“K...Kankri?”

Your arms are heavy and fall to your side, but you have enough energy to move your lips, mouthing a word. “Cr9nus.”

Your feet hit the ground and you are pulled into his chest. Not into violet and black armor, but a white shirt that needs to be washed a bit more often than he bothers. Cronus’s horns clip your own as he buries his face in your neck, and you’d bet that some of his pomade is getting in your curls. His hands still hurt you a little, but now on your back, where he clutches you, scared to let go.

“I’m sorry, Kankri,” your old friend whispers. “Oh, shit, Kankri, I’m sorry. I just...I vwanted...I vwanted to be...important.”

Your throat burns from Dualscar’s grip, but the pain is already fading. Pain never lasts long for the dead. “It’s 9kay,” you say, putting your own arms about Cronus’s chest. “I just wanted s9meone t9 listen.”

 


End file.
